Beyond the Veil
by Eggo Waffles
Summary: Between learning that the Afterlife is really just a field filled with ping pong tables and that his death was the product of an error in a computerized recordkeeping system, Sirius is seriously fed up. Thank God for chocolate and second chances.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers:** If I owned Harry Potter, why would I be writing pathetic fanfiction instead of working on "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince"? 

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Sirius felt the spell hit him hard in the chest. He lost his footing, and fell backwards. The whispering he had heard from behind the strange, gently swaying black Veil became ever louder as he plunged into the curtain, which enveloped him.

Damn Bellatrix, he thought as he heard her scream of laughter.

_Thunk_.

Suddenly, he was lying on his back, looking up at a sky of perfect robin's-egg blue, dotted with fluffy white cumulus clouds. He blinked furiously as sunlight glared his eyes, and pushed himself upright. He felt dewy grass beneath his palm as he put down a hand to steady himself.

Where was everyone? The Death Eaters, his cousin, the Order members, Harry...

There was the Veil from the Department of Mysteries, but no sign of the amphitheater in which it had stood.

Instead, it sat on its own in the middle of a meadow, a meadow that was eye-glaringly green and spread from horizon to horizon. There were no hills, rocks, mountains, or trees to prevent them from sitting, perfectly flush, against the edge of the heavens.

Where was he?

He turned all the way around and saw some signs of human habitation. There was man, a guard of some sort, dressed in a smart blue uniform. He was standing with a kind of infuriating smugness next to some kind of strange Muggle contraption (he didn't know the name), and beyond him were more people. Three lines of them, to be exact, standing patiently leading up to three booths. He could see little beyond the booths, but there appeared to be an awful lot of people milling about, with what appeared to be ping-pong tables sitting among the throngs.

This was too weird. Had he come across some kind of Portkey that had taken him to this strange place? Or, did his unusual surroundings have to do with that Veil? Sirius shuddered involuntarily—that Veil was no good, he'd known as soon as he'd entered the room. And the Department had an ominous reputation as it was.

Could he Apparate his way out? He tried, but nothing happened. Damn, there must be an Anti-Apparition charm around the field. What about a spell? He reached into his robes for his wand, but it was missing. Curses, he must have dropped it when his good-for-nothing cousin hit him. He'd have to ask for directions. In the past, this would have been an unthinkable course of action, but these weren't normal circumstances. Sighing, he walked up to the man in the blue uniform and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said, "But where the hell am I?"

"You," the man said laconically, "are in Here."

"I never guessed," said Sirius sardonically. He expected the man to reply with a witty comeback, a scathing insult, or the true answer to his original question, but after several minutes of silence, he saw that the man had no intent of replying at all. So, he tried again.

"Where, pray tell," he said through gritted teeth, "is here?"

"Here," the man replied, "is the place where you're standing."

Sirius fumed for ten full minutes as he imagined all the repulsive hexes he would have used had he been in possession of his wand, and of all the hexes he would also have used on Dumbledore, Snivellus, Voldemort, and Peter if _they _had chosen to appear. But as he had no wand, these musings were irrelevant. He tried a third time, vowing to punch the man's lights out if he persisted in being annoying.

"What is this place called?"

"This place is called Here. That is its name."

"This place is named Here?"

"Yes."

"What idiots came up with _that_ one?"

"The Administration."

"The Administration? Is that your government or something?"

"Here has no government, _per se_. The Administration just controls admittance."

"Admittance?"

"Admittance to Here."

"Ah." Sirius paused, digesting this singular information. "If Here has no government, the crime rate must be pretty high," he said conversationally.

"There is no crime."

"That's nice. How did that work out?"

"Most people use up their homicidal tendencies during their lifetime on Earth. Those who don't, fail to see the use in mugging someone who's already dead."

"Already dead?"

"Yes. Everyone in Here is dead."

"They don't look dead to me," said Sirius, eyeing the lively-looking people strolling around the meadow. And then it clicked.

"You don't mean to say that this is the Afterlife, do you?"

"You could call it that. We call it Here. Non-denominational, you see."

"Am _I _dead?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh." Ten more minutes passed while Sirius watched the crowd beyond the booths and thought, _so this is what being dead is like_ and _I'm hungry_. Another five minutes passed while Sirius played thumb war against himself, which nearly resulted in his collapse, until the man in the uniform snapped, "Are you going to sit around being an idiot, or are you going to get your ticket?"

"Ticket? What ticket?"

"For your admittance into Here. Back where all the people and the ping-pong tables are, behind the booths."

"Ah. Sure, I'll take a ticket, if it's free."

"It's free," said the man as he removed a roll of bright orange tickets from his jacket and ripped one away from its fellows. He handed it to Sirius.

Sirius glanced down at the ticket.

ADMIT ONE

"HERE"

987643356876578585893746596576836546739365784956746574675647657465749284

_Hell, that's a long barcode._

"Are you a wizard, Muggle, or Vanderdeiken?"

"What the hell's a Vanderdeiken?"

"Never mind. Wizard or Muggle?"

"Wizard."

"Okay, line on the left for you. Go through the turn-style first," he said, gesturing toward the Muggle contraption sitting beside him.

"So _that's_ what that is." He eyed the turn-style, and it eyed him. "So... what do I do?"

"Walk through it, and push the bar as you go."

Sirius tried, became entangled, and fell ungracefully into the wet grass. Struggling, he rose and kicked the machine, bruising his big toe, and joined the line on the left, glaring moodily at anyone nearby.

His mood lightened considerably when he spotted someone carrying a tray of candy. "Oi, over here!" he called, and the snack distributor sauntered over. "This free?"

"Yep."

Sirius cackled avariciously and grabbed as many chocolates as he could reach. Moony would have been so jealous—he was obsessed with chocolate. He stuffed three Cadbury bars in his mouth and clutched the rest protectively.

"Okay, got your ticket?" asked the witch in white robes, who was sitting in the booth, two hours later. Sirius handed her the chocolate-smeared fragment, which she accepted gingerly. She swiveled in her chair to face a Muggle computer, where she struck a few keys. "Alright, Mr. Blask, you're ready to go. Have fun in Here."

"Thanks, and it's Black, not Blask."

"Excuse me?"

"I said my name's Black, not Blask."

The witch looked astonished. "Are you, or are you not Mr. Cirian Blask of number 17, Grimmauld Place, London?"

"No, that's Sirius Black, number 12."

The witch's surprised expression was replaced with a furrowed frown, and she rose from her chair. "Sit," she said forcibly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him downwards into the seat. "I'll be back in a moment." She dashed off to another booth, white robes billowing.

Several minutes later, she returned to a rather impatient Sirius, who was spinning around in circles via the swivel chair. He scowled at her. "Listen, what the heck is going..."

"There has been a mistake, Mr. Black," said the witch, cutting him off.

"No way," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. 'What _kind _of mistake?"

"Get out of my chair and I'll explain," she said brusquely, and Sirius relinquished his seat sulkily, and the witch logged on to her computer. "Why'd you use that ridiculous Muggle contraption?" he asked.

"They're called computers, and they're actually quite useful. Much better than messed about with rolls of parchment and consulting books. We use pens, too. Less splattery than quills."

"Traitor," Sirius muttered. "So, you said that you were going to explain?"

"Well, as I said, Mr. Black, there appears to have been a mistake."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I never supposed."

"No need for sarcasm, Mr. Black. The point is, that you died when you weren't supposed to."

"And is that supposed to be _my_ fault?"

She ignored him. "You, Sirius Black of number 12 Grimmauld Place, were _not_ supposed to die today. It was your neighbor, one Cirian Blask, who you may note has a very similar name and address to your own."

"I see. So," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm assuming that I'm going to be sent back?'

"No, I'm afraid not," said the witch, typing speedily.

"_What!"_ Sirius yelped. "I'm _not_? But you said that it was a mistake! The wrong person died! I've still got a life to live out there! You've _got_ to send me back."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Several reasons." She turned away from the computer and swiveled in her chair to face her, arms folded across her chest. "Firstly, we've got a quota to meet out here. We have to have a certain balance. The right amount of people have got to be coming in each day. So supposing I just sent someone back to Earth? That balance would be disrupted, and there would be serious socio-economic difficulties. Death's about progress, and if people aren't _dying_, there won't_ be_ any progress!"

_Wow, capitalism has taken over even in the Afterlife_, Sirius mused.

"Secondly, there's the problem of overpopulation. Supposing I just let you go back, huh? D'you want ten people in some overworked, resource-less, third-world country to starve to death because there's one more gluttonous, middle-aged male wizard alive than there should be? _Do_ you?"

"Now, that's I little harsh; I'm not..."

The witch held up a hand, and Sirius shut his mouth resentfully. "I'm afraid I can't make allowances. Please proceed into Here." She lowered her voice and said in an urgent hiss, "And please don't mention this mishap to anyone."

Sirius grinned maliciously. "Oh, _I_ see how this is. Well, what makes you think I'll keep quiet about this mishap, as you call it? What's in it for me?"

She sighed. "Alright, name your terms."

"I want to go back."

"No can do."

"Then there's no deal." He folded his arms, resolute.

The witch groaned; this job was _not_ worth the stress, even if it _did_ mean that she got to play billiards in addition to ping-pong. "Okay, Mr. Black, I can do this much. I can let you go back through the Veil. You get forty-eight Earth hours to find this Cirian Blask and get him to go through the Veil—and remember, he's _got_ to go through the Veil, he's _got_ to die the same way you did. But if you die _again_, or Mr. Blask dies a different way, or you fail to compete your task, then the deal's off, and you've got to come back to Here. Is that clear?"

"Crystal. But I have one more request."

"No! I can't give you any more time!"

"It hasn't got anything to do with that!"

"What is it, then?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"I get to take snacks with me," he said, pointing at the man with the tray.

"Oh, fine. Will!" she called to the snack distributor, who sauntered over to the booth. "Give Mr. Black your tray." The confused Will undid the strap and proffered the tray, which Sirius snatched greedily.

"Will, please direct Mr. Black back to the Veil," said the witch. "Sorry for the delay," she called to the people in line. "Next, please."

"This way, Mr. Black," said Will, beckoning. With several more candy bars shoved in his chops, he followed the now snack-less snack man back to the gently rippling Veil.

"Here it goes," he said, and stepped through the curtain, wondering vaguely if he would manage to pull this off, and also about what a Vanderdeiken was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers:** I don't own anything in this story other then the three previously mentioned components, but I _do_ own the beautiful Macintosh PowerBook G3 used to type it.

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_Thunk._

Sirius fell out of the Veil for the second time in a few hours. This time, however, it constituted of a tumble and a head-first landing off the stone dais in the amphitheater, rather than a flop onto wet grass. He righted himself, rubbing his sore head bemusedly and taking in his surroundings.

He was back in the amphitheater, which was empty—the battle must have ended. He looked around for his wand, but failed to find it; someone must have picked it up. After gathering up his fallen chocolates, he sat on the dais for a moment to decide on a course of action.

Sirius concluded, on reflection, that revealing himself to the Order was a bad plan. It would take several hours and perhaps a few drops of Veritaserum to relay his rather implausible story to everyone, and even longer to successfully convince Mad-Eye that he wasn't a Death Eater is disguise. Then, a meeting would be called to discuss plans for apprehending this Cirian Blask, and objections would be raised, and, all in all, he would probably waste his first twenty-four hours simply convincing everyone that he was telling the truth. And as for actually _completing_ his unusual task—well, that was a different matter entirely.

However, he did feel that he ought to tell Moony. Remus Lupin was perhaps the person most likely to know the whereabouts of his wand, and, having been his childhood friend, would also be the easiest to convince. In addition, Sirius knew from experience that Moony was a reliable asset in unusual missions, whether it was tracking down mysterious neighbors or nicking food from the Hogwarts kitchens.

Decisions made, Sirius Disapparated.

Or, so he thought—when he opened his eyes, he was still in the Department of Mysteries and not at Grimmauld Place, as he had planned. He tried again.

Still nothing.

And then he realized—there was probably a Ministry investigation going on concerning the events of the previous night. An Anti-Disapparation jinx had doubtless been cast over the whole Department.

Damn.

How was he going to leave? He was the second most wanted member of the Wizarding community—he couldn't simply waltz out without a thousand Aurors and security personnel pouncing on him. And Disillusionment was useless at close quarters; moreover, he still didn't have a wand.

How would he get out?

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Eric, Atrium security wizard, was having a rough morning. First he'd been pulled for questioning about Lord Voldemort's supposed Ministry break-in the night before. Then, he'd been given a list of names and told that any visitors _not_ on the list were to be turned out of the building. Eric had his hands full explaining to irate witches and wizards that it would be impossible for them to visit their cousin Ernie at the office today, and also answering the questions of the many Ministry workers who came into the Atrium and yelled, "Good Lord, who blew up the fountain?" All in all, he was at his wit's end.

And then a big stray dog somehow got loose in the building, and he became even more exasperated, were that possible.

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Snuffles bounded down the London street, weaving in and out between pedestrians and their shopping bags. When he finally reached a grimy back alley, he ducked behind some dustbins and transformed back into a man. Sirius leaned against the brick wall of the abandoned apartment complex, breathing heavily. That was the worst—the _worst_—escape maneuver he had ever undergone, even since his Hogwarts days. It had taken long enough to figure out which door led out the Department of Mysteries (that spinning room was infuriating). By then he had several Unspeakables on his tail, literally, and more Ministry employees joined the chase as he bounded up stairwells and through corridors, wended through the repair crews in the Atrium, and finally escaped into Muggle London.

Never, ever again.

At least now he could Disapparate. With a small _pop!_ the ex-convict sheltering in the back street vanished, as if he had never been there.

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Meanwhile, back at number 12, Grimmauld Place, Sirius materialized in the middle of the Black family drawing room. He crept stealthily across the room, keeping an eye out for Kreacher, the stinker, and also for other Order members. However, the house appeared deserted. Perhaps they had refrained from entering Headquarters out of respect for the dead, he thought, as he descended the staircase that led to the ground floor. Did they think he'd be back to haunt the place? Well, they were nearly right, except Sirius wasn't dead anymore. Not at the moment, anyway.

He stalked quietly through the main hall, careful to be silent so as not to wake his mother's dratted portrait, though they might have one thing in common now that they both had died. Still, he didn't want the shrieks of, _"Shame of my flesh, abomination, creatures of filth!"_ to betray his presence to the rest of the house. He continued on, past the horrible elf heads. Still, he had seen nor heard no one. Where would he try next, if Moony wasn't here? He wasn't even sure his old friend had a house anymore, and he couldn't think of any other plausible locations.

But he was rewarded as he entered the kitchen by the sight of the back of someone's head, someone with light brown, gray-streaked hair and very shabby robes. Ha, he was in luck. Moony was here.

How would he announce himself? This would require care and sensitivity. Remus thought he was dead, and he was hopefully grieving a little. How did you greet someone who was under the impression that you were gone from the land of the living?

Sirius did it as best he could.

"Hello, Remus, would you like some chocolate?"

Remus yelped and jumped a foot, knocking over the chair he was sitting in. Whirling around, he saw his dead friend standing before him, holding out a chocolate bar.

"Pretty good stuff; _heavenly_, if you know what I mean," he said, and the next minute he was sniggering at his own pathetic pun. Remus, meanwhile, looked at if he'd been Petrified—he was white as a sheet, and there were huge dark circles under his eyes, which were opened to their fullest extent. Sirius acknowledged this with another sensitive comment. "God, Moony, you look terrible. Full moon coming, or are you just mourning me?"

A strangled noise emerged from Lupin's throat, and he keeled over.

"Tut tut," muttered Sirius. "You never used to lose it this easy. I guess the strain gets to you." He whipped the wand out of the unconscious werewolf's belt, pointed it at its owner, and said, "_Ennervate_."

Remus's eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet with surprising speed. He wrenched the wand from Sirius's slackened grip and pointed it at his friend, between the eyes. "Who are you?" he snapped with surprising vehemence.

"'S me, Sirius," he replied languidly. "I guess I might have expected this. Dead men rarely come back to life, do they?"

"Enough of this. Is this supposed to be some kind of pathetic joke, or..." Comprehension dawned on Remus's face. "You're a Death Eater, aren't you? I suppose you're congratulating yourself on your clever disguise. I guess you didn't hear."

"Hear what?" asked Sirius infuriatingly.

"Sirius Black is dead," he said with a slight catch in his voice, and his eyes seemed to deaden.

"Yes, I suppose I did die, but they gave me a reprieve. Special circumstances, y'know. You still don't believe me? Here, I'll transform..." Swiftly, Sirius seemed to bunch up on all fours; his limbs and torso changed shape, a tail sprouted, his nose and mouth merged and lengthened into a snout, his ears became larger, and black fur began to sprout. A black dog with a thick, bedraggled coat stood in the doorway, tail wagging.

"Nice Transfiguation work," said Remus coldly. "But I'm not convinced."

The dog turned back into a man. "Okay, then, you want information? My name is Sirius Black, son of Orion Black and that old hag whose picture you see in the hallway. I had a younger brother name Regulus who became a Death Eater. My best friends at school were you, James, and Peter... I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and I've spent all year locked in this dungeon against my will."

"Sirius, if you are Sirius, there is a certain piece of information that only you would know. From our school days," said the werewolf, his eyes narrowed frostily.

Sirius thought for a moment. "I was the one who turned all your chocolates into fruit bats during our third year," he offered.

"That was _you?_"

"Eh heh heh, guess not... oh, wait, I know what you're talking about." Sirius looked embarrassed. "Do I have to say it?"

"Yes."

"I slept with a stuffed Crup named Mr. Wiggles until I was sixteen."

Remus Lupin looked baffled. "Good Lord, Sirius, it _is_ you! But how... but how...?"

"Sit down; I've got a lot to tell you. And it's all a little unbelievable."

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Half an hour later, the chocolates had all been devoured, and Remus had, at last, been convinced. They now sat drinking Butterbeers and discussing the whole matter.

"So the afterlife is a green field where people play ping-pong?" the werewolf asked incredulously while Sirius took another swig of butterbeer.

"Yep, odd huh? And they call it Here. So creative."

"And how are we going to find this Cirian Blask?"

"I know his address; number 17, Grimmauld Place, only a few houses down."

"Is he a wizard or Muggle?"

"Or a Vanderdeiken?"

"What?"

"Never mind. The point is, I'm not sure."

"Well, if he _is_ a Muggle, we'll have to be very careful about how we handle it. There are severe penalties attached to using magic on Muggles, and on bringing them into magically reinforced areas. The Ministry has all kinds of sensor spells to detect spells used against non-magical beings," mused Remus.

'Still like a textbook," muttered Sirius. "Incidentally, Moony, have you seen my wand?"

"No, I haven't."

"Damn," he said softly. This would be much more difficult if Remus was the only one who could perform magic. He drained his bottle and set it down on the wooden table with a dull _clunk_. Remus put down his drink likewise.

"Well, if we've only got forty-six hours left, then we'd better get going," he said briskly, as if they were preparing to go to the library and search for a particular book. "I only hope Mr. Blask will be compliant."

"I doubt it," said Sirius. "I wouldn't."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers:** _"If you don't own Harry Potter, clap your hands!"_ (wild applause from Eggo Waffles)

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Sirius was all for Apparating into the middle of Cirian Blask's living room, Stunning him, flooing him to the Ministry of Magic, cursing his way through the Department of Mysteries, and then tossing the unconscious fellow through the Veil like a sack of potatoes.

However, as he had invited Remus Lupin in on the scheme, this was not to be. Lupin would probably see that everything was planned to the letter before putting a toe out of Grimmauld Place. It had been like that at Hogwarts—James and Sirius would concoct a hairbrained scheme for abusing Snape, and Remus would be the one to tie them down in a chair, look up appropriate jinxes, consult the Marauder's Map, proofread their History of Magic essays, and then untie them to embark on a effectively planned escapade.

"Sirius, you've only just gotten out of Azkaban," said Lupin in exasperation. "It would be pretty pointless to go through all the trouble of coming back to life if you're going to spend the rest of your days in prison for breaking into the Ministry and tossing some poor soul to his doom, especially if said person turns out to be a Muggle."

"Well what do you propose?" said Sirius sardonically.

"First, we need to figure out an alibi for going to Mr. Cirian Blask's home. I mean, we can't just ring the doorbell of a house belonging to someone we've never met and say, 'Oh, hi, we're wizards and there was a mishap in the afterlife so we're going to take you to our place of government and throw you through a curtain in order that my friend here can live a happy and prosperous life.'"

"Why not?"

Remus groaned and banged his head against the wooden table. "Sometimes I wonder how I ever became friends with you."

"Is that an insult? I could pound you."

"Tough words coming from someone who's dead and sleeps with a stuffed animal."

"Hey, I'm not dead _now_! And I don't sleep with Mr. Wiggles anymore... well, not all the time, anyway..."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Getting back to our original topic... I was thinking we should pretend to be Muggle journalists. We could think up some topic to interview him on, gain his confidence, pretend we're going for a photo shoot, lead him to London and somehow get him into the Ministry, and then sneak him into the Department of Mysteries, whereupon we will toss him through the Veil and Apparate out!"

Remus sat for a few moments, smiling at his brilliant scheme.

"You're losing your touch, Moony," said Sirius dryly. "That sounds like something Peter would have come up with, and that's saying something."

"Have _you_ got a better idea?" his friend replied coldly.

"Well, no..."

"Then let's get going!"

"But supposing he's not a Muggle!"

Remus paused. "Well, that'll be easy. We'll pretend to be Aurors and arrest him..."

"_Arrest_ him?"

"Yes, _arrest_ him. And then we'll take him to the Ministry for 'questioning' about last night's events, and..." Lupin's face died slightly. "... and we'll wing it from there."

Sirius frowned. "This will _never_ work."

"Yes, it will. Now, first we need some Muggle clothes..."

"But what if he's not a Muggle?"

"Aurors dress undercover Muggle-style all the time."

"Ah, I see," said Sirius. He had actually never seen an Auror dress undercover Muggle-style, but Remus was the one who knew things like that. "I think I have a few things upstairs... and some of the Weasley kids left some clothes."

"You expect those to fit us?"

"Nothing an Engorgement charm won't rectify."

Lupin shrugged in assent, and the two tramped up the stairs of the ancestral Black home.

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Twenty minutes later, Sirius and Remus were dressed in what they evidently assumed was Muggle-style. Lupin actually looked relatively normal, though his choice of purple pinstriped trousers and a bright green Weasley sweater was slightly outlandish. However, compared to Sirius, who was wearing Moody's bowler hat, a dinner jacket, and checkered athletic shorts, Remus looked as unassuming as any respectable Muggle.

"I swear they don't wear those things anymore," Remus whispered to Sirius, jerking a head at his hat, as they walked down the London street. A few people driving cars and several pedestrians were eyeing them strangely, though neither wizards noticed.

"Sure they do, Mad-Eye wears it every time he goes into Muggle territory," Sirius replied cheerily, adjusting the hat.

"I think that's just to hide his... oh, there's the house," said Lupin, pointing at the derelict brick building. On the outside, it looked very much like Sirius's, minus the snake-encrusted black door. They ascended the doorstep cautiously, when Sirius stopped abruptly, nose wrinkled.

"Cat," he said disgustedly. There was a heavy odor of felines surrounding the house, which any wizard with the ability to transform into a dog would recognize. Other than Crookshanks, a notable exception, Sirius despised cats.

"Maybe Mr. Blask's a cat lover," said Remus.

"Why would _any_one be a cat lover? Dogs are so much more agreeable."

"Cats are low-maintenance."

"They bring dead rodents into the house."

"So do owls."

"But owls are nicer than cats."

"Look, are we going to stand around arguing about cats, or are we going to ring the doorbell?" Sirius paused for a moment, whereupon Lupin groaned and pressed the glowing white button.

_Ding-dong!_

There were sounds of activity from within the house, and the door creaked open slowly. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Harry Potter at the moment, but I have sent several letters with enclosed checks to J.K. Rowling, and I am expecting to receive the rights to her novels at any time.

**Further Disclaimers:** That last statement was a complete fabrication.

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A man, presumably Mr. Cirian Blask himself, was framed in the doorway. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, with thin mouse-brown hair and very thick bifocals. His attire, which made Remus and Sirius feel very much like normal Muggles, consisted of a Hawaiian shirt, long khaki shorts, and stout red rubber boots, with the addition of several cats twined around his ankles, looking not unlike old faux fur scarves.

The werewolf and the convict blinked. Twice.

"Hello," said the man cheerily, smiling at the two wizards. "Would you like some tea?"

"Tea?" asked Sirius, blinking again.

"I can make lemonade if you'd prefer. But I happen to like tea." He smiled at them expectantly.

"We'd certainly be honored..." began Remus in confusion while Sirius blinked furiously.

"Good," said the man, yanking his visitors into the house by their shirt collars.

They stood a few moments later in a dingy foyer carpeted with longer cat hairs, rubbing their sore necks. Remus glanced at Sirius for support, and when he saw that his friend was still preoccupied with blinking, cleared his throat. "Are you Mr. Cirian Blask?" he asked, hoping it didn't sound too accusatory.

"I am, but please call me Scott."

It was Remus's turn to blink. "You want us to call you Scott?"

"Yes. My sister had a dog called Scott. It was a Scotty terrier, you see. Friendly sort of animal. He's dead, of course." There was an uncomfortable sort of pause which Remus broke by saying, "Indeed," as politely as he could.

"So, tea!" cried Cirian Blask, also known as Scott, and he shuffled into the kitchen. When he was out of earshot, Remus glared at Sirius. 'Something in your eye?" he asked him coldly while he blinked incessantly.

"They said in Muggle Studies that Muggles were _normal_," was the only reply he got.

"He might not _be _a Muggle. The slightly eccentric dress, the cats... he looks like a wizard to me. Some of them prefer to pose as Muggles rather than go into hiding."

Sirius, who had shuddered involuntarily at the word "cats", said, "We should still pull the journalist ruse, though, just to be safe." He blinked again, eyes watering.

"You're right, and will you stop _blink_ing? It gets on my nerves."

"It's not just for dramatic effect," replied Sirius, staring at Remus with bloodshot eyes. "I think I'm allergic."

"To cats?" Sirius shuddered again and blinked. "But you were alright with Crookshanks."

"He's only part cat. I think his Kneazle blood cancelled most of it out." He sneezed and cursed as their host poked his head into the hallway. "The tea's ready."

Sitting around a flimsy card table, the three peculiarly dressed men sipped scalding tea from ancient china, while dozens of cats in various colors wended their way through the kitchen. Every so often, a feline would stop and hiss at Sirius, who would sniffle irritably while Scott reprimanded it. "No, Tilly," he said firmly to a pure white cat that Remus was sure he had called Binky a few moments before. "Leave the nice man alone." The cat arched its back and purred, and then stalked off to join a tabby and two calicos on the filthy kitchen counter.

Remus decided that it was in the best interest of Sirius's allergies and his life that they cut to the chase immediately. He coughed politely. "Well, Mr. Blask..."

"Scott, please."

"..._ Scott_, I suppose you're wondering why we're here."

"No, not really," said Scott nonchalantly, sipping his tea. "I get odd visitors all the time. Sometimes they want me to take care of one of their cats. Sometimes they've tried to sell me something. A few have tried to rob me. I invite them in for tea, all the same. That's my philosophy: treat everybody the same. People are like cats, you know. They all look different on the outside, but deep down all they want is a back rub, a plate of fish, and a nap."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Remus couldn't think of anything to say to a statement like that. Himself, he thought the whole idea was rather warped since he had never cared for fish. But he wouldn't say _that_; people got irritated when their personal maxim was questioned.

To his surprise, Sirius sniffed and jumped in. "That is a truly deep and moving testimony, Scott. We're journalists, you know, and we would love to write an article connecting racial equality and cats for Sunday's edition. Would you give us an interview?"

"Actually, I'm rather busy at present. Sarah and Winnie are both having kittens in the living room."

Sirius wondered whether he meant it in a figurative or literal sense, though the amount of cats in the house at present seemed to suggest the former. Remus salvaged the situation while he mused by saying, "How about we make an appointment for tomorrow, then? We could meet at Nelly's for lunch at twelve."

"That sounds fine," said the eccentric cat lover, putting down his teacup and rising from his chair. "Would you like to help with the delivery, or would you prefer to leave?"

Both wizards rose so quickly that they knocked their chairs to the ground. "I'm afraid we have some rather pressing business to attend to," said Remus, setting the chair firmly on four legs. Sirius blinked and sniffed as he righted his own chair, and after saying their goodbyes they exited the house. As they departed, they heard Scott saying, "Alright, Penny, breathe slowly and _push!_"

"I thought the cats' names were Sarah and Winnie," said Remus aloud.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," the werewolf replied.

"That was without a doubt one of the weirdest experiences I've had in my life, and that's saying something considering all the people Dung's introduced me to."

"Indeed," said Lupin. "Well, I suppose we'd better head back. We've got forty-three hours and ten minutes left before..." He gulped. It was bad enough to have Sirius die _once_. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers:** I own all of the Harry Potter books, but not their content.

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Next day at noon found Sirius and Remus standing in line awkwardly at a rather grimy old sandwich shop called Nelly's. Remus was in a tweed suit and flip-flops, while Sirius was again wearing Moody's hat, along with an orange "Save the Whales" t-shirt and faded corduroys.

"Only twenty-five hours left," muttered Sirius as he surveyed the blackboard where the sandwich choices and the day's special were chalked. The person in front moved aside, and Remus jumped in.

"Um... can I get a BLT? Hold the tomatoes. What do you want, Sirius?" he asked, turning toward his friend. The girl behind the counter eyed him oddly.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" she asked quizzically, narrowing her eyes.

Sirius gulped. What an idiot he was to forget that he was wanted in the Muggle world as well as the Wizarding one! Sure, he was less emaciated and better groomed than on the wanted posters, but supposing someone recognized him anyway?

"Uh...er... well..."

"I must have been imagining it," she said apologetically, though she still looked suspicious. "I'm rather forgetful."

A man behind Sirius made an impatient noise, and he remembered that he was supposed to be taking an order.

"I'll do a BLT too. With tomatoes," he added.

"Is that all?"

"Oh, wait, drinks," said Remus.

"Have you got any Butterbeer?" asked Sirius. Remus stepped on his foot. "Ouch!"

"Butterbeer? What's that, is it new?" she asked, looking even more confused.

"He meant Coke," Lupin intervened. "Two large Cokes, please."

"Okay. We'll let you know when your order is ready." She was still looking at Sirius as if struggling to place a name, and Remus steered him over to an occupied table in the back of the room.

"Phew, that was too close. She looked like she recognized you," said Remus, wiping his forehead. "And then you go like an idiot and ask for _Butterbeers_."

"Hey, I forgot that Muggles don't sell them!" said Sirius defensively. "It's a mistake anyone can make."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I wonder where Scott is."

"He's probably..." Sirius began, and then saw someone walk through the door. "... right there."

Remus waved for several minutes before Scott noticed them. He shuffled over to their table, looking even more peculiar in the midst of normal Muggles than he did back at his cat-infested apartment.

"Hello," he said, sliding into a seat. "I don't know your names."

"I'm Remus Lupin," said the werewolf friendlily.

"I'm...uh..." Sirius stumbled; he couldn't say his real name; he was a wanted criminal. He said the first name that came to mind. "I'm James Potter."

Remus looked visibly shaken for a moment; his dead friend taking on the name of his other dead friend. He shook his head slightly, and then someone yelled, "Lupin!" from behind them.

"That's our order," said Remus, jumping up, leaving Sirius, a.k.a. James, and Cirian, a.k.a. Scott, sitting alone at the table. After several moments, Scott spoke.

"You have a dog?"

"Huh?" said Sirius, starting. "No..."

"You smell like dog," he replied. Sirius would have taken offense, but the man's tone was so matter-of-fact that he saw that he was being perfectly serious. _Did_ he smell like dog? Remus had never said anything, but Remus wasn't really the type to say something like that. Well, Remus could turn into a wolf, and he didn't smell like a wolf. But maybe werewolves were different. What about James—did he smell like a stag? Sirius tried to remember. What did a stag smell like, anyway...?

"Sirius? Sirius!" Sirius yelped and looked up. Remus was looking at him strangely.

"Sorry, just thinking," muttered Sirius, turning a little red as he grabbed his BLT and took a large bite.

"So, to business," said Remus as he picked up his own sandwich. "Si... James, do you have the questions?"

"Yes," he replied, though it sounded more like, "Yefsh," through the mouthful of bacon, lettuce, and tomato. He procured a notepad from inside his pocket and handed it to Remus.

"Okay, Mr. Blask. First of all, how many cats do you have?"

"Twenty-nine, plus the eight born yesterday. That makes thirty-seven."

Sirius coughed and spat out some Coke. "You have _thirty-seven_ cats?"

"Yes."

"Damn, even Figg doesn't have that many," he said to Remus, who nodded, looking a little shocked himself. He glanced down at the next question they had invented and gave a mental groan. "What are their names?"

Scott began without pause. "Milly, Oscar, Weevil, Jimmy, Sarah, Winnie, Binky, Sir Snickers, Wanda, Tiger, Midnight, Cleo, Athena, Fergus, Timbo, Mattie, Linda, Snowfur, Vanderdeiken..."

"_VANDERDEIKEN?"_ yelled Sirius, jumping to his feet.

Scott looked unphased, but Remus stared at him. So did the rest of the sandwich shop, which had gone silent. Sirius turned red.

"Eh heh heh... My friend here was just, uh, telling me about a new Quidditch team from Denmark called the Vanderdeikens! Ah ha ha..."

Remus groaned.

"What's Quidditch?" asked someone bemusedly.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Quidditch! It's the greatest _ouch!"_ Remus had stomped in his foot again, this time very hard.

"I meant football, of course! Go West Ham!" said Sirius. Everyone was still staring at him, and he sat down sheepishly. Gradually, talking bubbled forth again, and the shop was again filled with noise.

"Where was I?" asked Scott.

"Vanderdeiken," muttered Sirius.

Scott again began rattling off the names of his felines, which took ten more minutes. Remus plowed on with the rest of the questions, which included queries about various breeds, his opinion on human rights issues, and his views on whether cats would do well in politics. Sirius felt his attention drifting—Moony had been the one to do the research and make up the questions the night before, while Sirius flicked Dungbombs at him until he threw down his quill and launched himself across the table at him. He still had several bad bruises.

"Well, that wraps that up," said Remus finally. "Would you mind us taking a few photos to accompany the article?"

'Not at all. Would you like to go back to my apartment so that the cats can be in them, too?"

"Uh... Uh... we have some special cats at the studio that we use for animal shots! Yeah. We'd better head there. It's not far."

"Okay."

The three men rose from the table and exited the sandwich shop. Sirius was apprehensive Now came the most delicate part of the operation—luring Mr. Blask to the Ministry of Magic, sneaking him through the Department of Mysteries, and getting him through the Veil. It suddenly occurred to Sirius to wonder whether that was considered murder. Was he really justified in leading an innocent man to his doom?

"Yes, the Afterlife said so," he muttered, and they walked on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers:** I don't own the Harry Potter books; they own me!

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Remus, Sirius, and their feline-loving companion trudged down the dingy London street. Sirius was formulating a plan in his head. But how to convey it to Remus with Scott standing right there?

"Uh, hold on, I'll call the, uh, studio on my sellytone, to let them know we're coming," said Sirius. "Remus, what was that number again?" He grabbed a thoroughly confused Remus by the collar and dragged him over by some trash cans, where they stood hunched together, backs to Mr. Blask, who seemed unperturbed by their unnatural behavior.

"What the _hell_ are you trying to do? He'll get suspicious! And it's selly_fone_, not sellytone!" hissed Remus at his friend, who had whipped an imaginary "sellytone" out of his pocket and was pretending to dial a number.

"Did you say four or five?" said Sirius loudly, and then whispered, "Look, this guy is so daft he wouldn't notice if I whipped out my wand and turned him into a newt. I have a plan, but I couldn't say it with him standing right there."

"A five," replied Remus noisily, and adding in an undertone, "_What?"_

"Okay, once we get into the Ministry, I'll tell him I'm going to get the photographers. As soon as I'm out of sight, I'll turn into a dog, and come bounding toward you. Blask's a cat person; I bet he'll be wary of me. Especially when I start growling and snapping and chasing him around."

"How does this help us?" said Remus. Sirius always came up with the most harebrained schemes.

"_I'll_ chase him right toward the Department of Mysteries, while _you_ go tell the security people that there's a dog on the loose, and lead them off to the other side of the building. Then, you give them the slip and come find me. By then, hopefully, I'll have succeeded in driving our friend right through the Veil!"

"You," said Remus. "Are a bloody _idiot_. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"Well, _your_ brilliant plan from the beginning was to 'wing it from there.' This is what I call winging it."

"Oh, fine, if we must. But I've never heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong..."

"My selly_fone_ isn't working," said Sirius loudly, cutting off the whispered conference. Remus rolled his eyes. "We'll have to try a foney booth!"

"There's one right there," said Scott Blask helpfully, pointing at a rather dilapidated specimen nearby.

Perfect. Sirius walked into the "foney" booth and picked up the receiver, which was badly battered. "Oh, come and look at this, uh, er... fone!" he said loudly. "There's something wrong with it!" Scott clambered into the booth behind him to examine the telephone, and Remus followed suit. It was rather cramped, but as usual Scott seemed oblivious to the peculiarity of the situation.

"Vandals," he said wisely, eyeing the broken phone. "Vandals killed my cat Becky last year. I gave her a proper burial."

"Er... right..." said Remus awkwardly, partially because of what Scott had said and partially because his face was shoved up against the wall in a rather uncomfortable manner.

"Maybe it works anyway," said Sirius, and quickly dialed 62442.

"Welcome," said a cool female voice. "Please state your name and business."

"Dang, this never happened to me in a telephone booth before," said Scott.

"Thank you," said the voice. "Visitor, please take your badge and attach it to the front of your robes.

A badge shot out of the coin slot, which read, "_Dang This: Never Telephone Booth Happenings._"

"Er, right," said Sirius, slipping the badge into his pocket. "Skip the rest, we know what to do. Oh, uh, and Scott, I forgot to tell you... this is the secret studio entrance! Good surprise, huh? Eh heh heh..."

Remus groaned. What the hell was wrong with Sirius? Azkaban had addled him... No, on second thought, he had always been like that.

"Right," said Scott. He sounded slightly curious now.

The floor of the booth rumbled and moved downwards.

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Eric the security guard was having another bad day.

A man had come running crazily up to his desk, panting and wheezing.

"Hey, sir! There's a stray dog or something in here... big and black... chasing some poor guy..."

_Merlin's Beard, not that again!_

"Where is it?" he said out loud.

"Down that way..." The man pointed down the hall, clutching his side.

Eric snatched up his wand and called to some of his colleagues.

"Hey, that mutt's back again. We'll get him this time!"

They jogged down in the direction the man had indicated, while the man himself sneaked off unnoticed.

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Remus stopped to rest a moment in a deserted corridor. Everything was going to plan; in fact, he would have been optimistic if the plan had not been so abysmal in the first place. But aside from that, Sirius's predictions had been correct. As soon as Blask had seen the snarling, black, hulking hound, he had gone rather white and muttered something like, "I don't like dogs..." And when Sirius had snapped his jaws and lunged toward him, he had gone sprinting in the other direction, Sirius at his heels. Security personnel were searching for him on the other side of the building, Sirius himself could certainly deal with any of the ordinary employees he encountered, and Blask, numb with terror, would probably be easy to lure into the trap. This might actually work.

Then, there was a voice over the building's magical intercom, booming and echoing off the stone walls of the passage.

"_Attention to all security personnel, Ministry employees, and visitors! An unidentified number of Muggles and a stray animal have infiltrated the building! Would all Obliviators report to the Atrium, and would everyone please remain vigilant for any signs of the intruders! Thank you!"_

"Oh, damn," said Remus, and hurried away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers:** J.K. Rowling _finally_ mailed me back, stating that she didn't think she could give me the rights to her books at this time. Phooey. I wrote back, asking if I can at least rent them for a while. We'll see what she says. For now, though, however, I am still but a lowly fanfiction author.

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Arthur Weasley was practically dancing with glee. While stony-faced witches and wizards peered warily from over the tops of their cubicles, keeping an eye out for any sign of the intruders, he was humming cheerily. He was so cheerful, in fact, that when he knocked his prized Mickey Mouse clock off the desk in a fit of exuberance, he barely so much as flinched. Normally, the destruction of one his prized Muggle relics would have driven him to tears, but who cared about Muggle gadgets when there was a real Muggle in the building?

He hoped that he might be the one to find the Muggle. He was already impressed with his or her intelligence in infiltrating the heavily warded Ministry—a security hazard, of course, but a Memory Charm would fix that. Perhaps they would let the Muggle sit in his office while the Obliviators were fetched. He hoped so, as he had a few questions about cumpoochers; the screen of the "Windows 2000" he had picked up a few weeks ago turned blue and died at the strangest times. (A/N: Go Macintosh!)

There was some commotion outside his office, and Arthur poked his head outside to see what was going on.

"Got the mangy mutt! Ah! It's as slippery as a greased pig."

"Ouch, it bit me!"

"Oof!"

He watched with amusement as a large black dog, growling and snapping, evaded the six or so wizards attempting to catch it. It skirted around Eric from the Atrium, weaved through three pairs of legs, but when it saw Arthur, it stopped dead.

His stomach lurched as he looked at the animal. The resemblance between it and another large black dog was uncanny. He hated to be reminded of that now, when he had been feeling so carefree...

Just then, a throng of people rounded the corner, and in the front...

"Remus? What are you doing here?"

Surprisingly, Remus Lupin ignored him. "That's my dog, sir!" He reached out and grabbed the black dog by the scruff of the neck.

"Hey," said Eric suspiciously. "Aren't you the one who sent us after him in the first place?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, he got away from me..."

"That's not what you said before. And what happened to fellow he was chasing?"

"I dunno, I guess he got away..."

"How do I know that's really a dog? Bit fishy, really, the same dog coming into the Ministry two days in a row. Maybe it's a person that's been Transfigured. Or maybe it's an Animagus."

"No, sir, it's just a dog. Seriously." The dog yipped and wagged its tail.

"Just to be on the safe side, sir, I'll be obliged to perform the charm." He reached out and pulled the dog back, away from Remus, raising his wand as he did so.

"I, uh, wouldn't do that if I were you!"

"Why not?"

"Ummm... he's allergic!"

Eric stared. "Your dog is allergic to Animagi Reversal spells?"

"Yes, he breaks out in horrible hives."

"How can you tell? He's covered in fur."

"Not on his nose."

"Look, sir, if your dog has any problems, I'll pay for the veterinary expenses. But for right now, I'll be obliged to perform the spell." He pointed his wand at the dog and muttered an incantation. The dog glowed for a moment, silhouetted with electric blue light. Then, he began to change—his fur was receding, his limbs changing in shape and length, his nose becoming shorter...

Arthur gasped. There was a dead man standing in front of them.

"Hello, everybody, I'm Sirius Black, and as much as I'd like to murder you all with a single curse, I really have better things to be doing. Ta ta!" Sirius Disapparated before anyone could so much as blink, and a split second later, Remus was gone too.

"What the bloody hell was that?" asked Eric, white as a sheet.

Arthur paused, and then Disapparated himself. Dumbledore had better be informed. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimers:** Creator of the Harry Potter Universe equals J.K. Rowling; Eggo Waffles ≠ J.K. Rowling; Creator of the Harry Potter Universe ≠ Eggo Waffles.

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Remus looked around the dusty drawing room of number 12, Grimmauld Place.

"Sirius? Where are you?" he called as he exited the room. "Sirius!" He rounded a bend and collided with Molly Weasley.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think that anyone... I mean, I didn't see you..."

"It's quite alright," she replied, steadying herself. She glanced at him with a mixture of apprehension and sympathy. "Uh, Remus... who exactly were you calling for a moment ago?"

"Oh, I'm looking for Sir..." He stopped; Sirius was "dead." "I was looking for... my cat! Yes, my cat, named... Sira..."

"You don't have a cat, Remus."

"I don't?"

"No, Remus." She sighed. "Well, I'm glad you're here, anyway. Everyone's gathering in the kitchen; Dumbledore called an emergency Order meeting. I don't know what about, but Arthur said something about Muggles in the Ministry. He looked quite shaken up. Surprising, really... I'm surprised he came home at all, when there was a chance he might get to talk to one..."

"Uh, right! Well, I'll be there in a moment..." Molly nodded and descended the stairs. Remus waited until the sound of her footsteps faded, berating himself mentally; as soon as this whole affair was done with, he was going to sit down and write One-Hundred-And-One Believable Alibis For When One Is Caught Up In Sticky Situations (Especially When They Involve Criminals And People Who Happen To Be Dead, Or Were Until Recently).

He heard a slight noise from the linen cabinet behind him. Whipping around, he pulled out his wand and yanked open the door simultaneously. Sirius was standing behind a shelf of maroon towels, shaking with suppressed laughter. Remus rolled his eyes and cuffed him about the head. "Shut up."

"Ouch, Remmy," whined Sirius, massaging his scalp as he emerged from the closet.

"_Did you just call me Remmy?_"

"Um... no..."

"That's what I _thought."_ Remus eyed Sirius appraisingly, who flashed a debonair smile.

"Your excuses are pathetic, Moony. I would think that being a Marauder would have improved your lying abilities... but then again, you were always hopeless at the lying..."

"At least I don't say something dramatic and Apparate at the first sign of trouble!"

"Oh, c'mon, that was worth it. Did you see the looks on their faces?"

"Yes. _Arthur_ looked particularly shocked. And now Dumbledore has called an emergency Order meeting. Yes, Sirius," he added, eyeing his friend's sudden horrified expression. "The entire order is downstairs, very interested to hear about your sudden return from the dead."

"We've got to go _now!_ Before someone comes up here!"

"Don't you think it might be better to spill now? The Order could be useful to us, and it would mean less sneaking around..."

"Remus, I want you to imagine what would happen if I went down there, told everyone that I had come back to life and was planning to toss some random Muggle through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries?"

Remus paused. "You're right. We'd better finish this on our own. Explanations can happen later. But we have to find Blask..."

"Cirian."

"Scott."

"Vanderdeiken."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"... in order to complete this unusual task. Where do you suppose they're holding him?"

"Azkaban?"

"They wouldn't put a Muggle in _Azkaban_, Sirius."

"Well, he could be anywhere. He could be at the Ministry, or some detainment facility, or one of the other hidden Wizarding buildings, or Diagon Alley, or a magaical house like this one, or they could have modified his memory and let him go already. He could be anywhere in London!"

"We need the Marauder's Map," muttered Sirius.

"That only shows Hogwarts, and anyway, Harry's got it."

Sirius's eyes lit up. "I have a _brilliant_ plan!"

"Uh-oh, not another one..."

"This one actually makes sense. Do you have a map of London?"

Remus nodded thoughtfully. "I see where you're going with this. But we _would _need a map, and I don't have..."

"I have another idea! Watch this!" He crossed into the drawing room and threw open the window. "Give me your wand." Remus handed his wand over mutely, watching as Sirius pointed it outside and cried, _"Accio Map!_"

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Molly, Arthur, and Tonks were already downstairs in the kitchen, waiting for the others. Mrs. Weasley had made tea, and everyone was sipping from steaming mugs and nibbling on Honeydukes's Chocolate Truffle Delight. There was a flapping sound from outside, and the three looked out the window in astonishment as several tons of paper flew along the street and collided with the side of the house with a loud _flump_.

Tonks and Molly sat for several minutes, staring out the window and blinking furiously. Arthur picked himself, muttered, "I need a nap. Badly," and stalked from the room.

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"Okay, bad plan," grunted the lump of paper that was Sirius. "Will you help me?"

Remus waded across the room and dug his friend out of his papery tomb. "Brilliant, Sirius. You appear to have summoned all the maps in London. The Order won't notice _anything_, and the Muggles won't be at all perturbed that it just snowed paper all along Grimmauld Place!"

Peering outside, Remus saw that the street was clogged with numerous scruffy maps, all of which had tried to force their way through the window and, failing, fallen back onto the road. People were emerging from their houses, looking around in astonishment.

"Ha! Look! I've found a map of London!" cried Sirius triumphantly, emerging from a drift of maps. "It worked after all!"

"You. Are. Hopeless."

"Oh, come. The Muggles will come up with some crazy explanation. Ten thousand trucks filled with maps collided and a windstorm blew them all here. Bet you a million that's what they'll say."

"A million Galleons or a million maps?" said Remus sardonically.

There were sounds of footsteps on the landing.

"Buckbeak's room," said Sirius to Remus, and they both Apparated away from the scene of the crime as Order members entered the devastated drawing room to investigate.

"Hey, Beaky," said Sirius to the hippogriff, who gave a snort in greeting and allowed the ex-convict to pat his feathery head. "Well. Remus, do you remember the enchantments we used on the Marauder's Map?"

"Do I remember? Sirius, we spent five years developing that!"

"Just checking. We'll have to add the Ministry to this map, so that we can see that area as well. Then, the basic Animation and Identification charms, and the spell that James invented."

"You realize that this will take all night, and then some while we wait for the charm to set."

"Yes."

"We don't have that much time."

"We'll waste more time if we try to search every corner of London."

"Right. Well, let's get started." 


	9. THIS STORY HAS BEEN HIJACKED

**Hello to all you Muggles out there! Since the author is obviously too lazy to update her story, I, the irresistible Sirius Black, am going to do it instead! And I'll do a better job of it, too, since she isn't nearly flattering enough when it comes to describing my wonderful, brilliant, magnificent, breathtaking, glorious…**

_I hope you aren't referring to yourself._

**Woah, Moony! When did you get here?**

_I've been here the whole time, though you've obviously been too wrapped up flirting with yourself to notice!_

**Shut up, Remus.**

_Anyway, what are you doing on Eggo Waffles's computer? She's gonna kill you, you know._

**Ah, what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Anyway, I'm doing her a favor. Where is she, anyway?**

_Off reading _Lord of the Rings_ somewhere, I think._

**Traitor!**

_You're just jealous because she knows_ how _to read, Padfoot._

**Oh, isn't somebody just _full_ of wit today!**

_Yes, I rather am._

**Right. Anyway, we'd better get cracking. The audience is probably bored with all your chattering by now.**

_Ahem._

**Well, so, anyway. What universe are we in, anyhow? Oh, crap… tell me this isn't one of those ones where I'm married to you!**

_You say that like it's a bad thing!_

……

_I was KIDDING, Padfoot._

**Don't lie. You can't resist me.**

_Eurgh. I feel sick._

**ANYWAY… ah ha! So we were right about the part where I, the splendiferous Sirius Black, have the brilliant plan of summoning a map and turning it into a sort of large-scale Marauder's Map of London so that we can find the ever-elusive Mr. Cirian Scott Vanderdeiken Blask. **

_We're past that part, Sirius._

**Oh.**

_We've finished putting the charms on the map, and then we hid out in the attic with Buckbeak while we waited for them to set._

**Okay. I'll start.**

**The wonderful, brilliant, magnificent, breathtaking, glorious Sirius Black yawned sexily and decided to eat a sandwich. First he conjured two slices of bread, lightly toasted, a jar of mayonnaise, a head of lettuce, a rind of bacon, three tomatoes, a bottle of mustard, a few slices of turkey…**

_Merlin's Beard, Sirius, skip to something more interesting!_

**What's more interesting than the culinary activities of the wonderful, brilliant, breathtak…**

_Argh!_

**Argh? You sound like a pirate.**

_Oh, shut up and get on with updating. Though it's beyond me why anyone would want to read about the deranged adventures of two thirty-six year old wizards._

**I'm twenty-eight, actually.**

_No you're not!_

**Yes I am!**

_Sirius, how old were you when you were sent to Azkaban?_

**Uh… twenty-two.**

_And_ how _many years has it been since then?_

**Fifteen.**

_Therefore, you are…_

**Twenty-four!**

_(beats head against nonexistent cyberdesk) Dumbledore made a huge mistake when he decided not to have Maths taught at Hogwarts._

**Your point being…?**

_(shakes head) Whatever, Sirius. You're twenty-four._

**Twenty-one, actually.**

_ARGH!_

**He's doing the pirate thing again! He's-**

What the hell are you doing on my computer?

_Eek! Eggo Waffles!_

**Eggos… how nice to see you…**

Don't pull that with me Sirius. What are you doing messing around with my _precccccious_?

_It's true! SHE'S A _LORD OF THE RINGS _FAN!_

**And look what book she's carrying… IT'S _THE HOBBIT_! NO, IT'S _THE SILMARILLION_! WAIT, NO, IT'S _THE RETURN OF THE KING_! IT'S…**

"Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix"?

_Oh._

**Oh.**

Just kidding. It's _The Two Towers_.

**AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**

Oh, give it a rest, will you? And stop messing with my iTunes library!

_What's the point, anyway? All you have is Celtic music!_

**Yeah, haven't you ever heard of the Weird Sisters?**

Believe it or not, they're a fictional band. You're fictional characters. _All_ of this is fictional.

**Say WHAT?**

#… I shouldn't have said that…

_I can't believe you accused us of being fictional!_

**It's so demeaning!**

_We're as real as you are!_

**Okay… so we're not… but we still have feelings!**

Alright, alright, alright… if I update will you shut up?

_You mean you're going to update?_

I guess.

**Hooray! You have no idea how boring it's been in the cyberchanging-room all these weeks…**

Sorry, sorry…

**And another thing.**

What?

_Promise you'll never read_ Lord of the Rings _again!_

No can do.

**Blood traitor…**

You sound like your mother.

**Argh!**

_Well, look who's the pirate now._

Alright, off the computer. I need to update.

**But EGGOS…**

OFF!

_Fine._

**Fine.**

Namárië to you both.

_Ack! She's speaking Elvish!_

OUT! (kicks them out with cyberboots)

Anyway, guys, sorry about that… interruption. I'm also sorry that I broke my pledge. Okay, actually I'm not sorry, but I can pretend. I'm halfway through writing the next chapter—this is here to tide you over. It will be up within a few days… not that you should trust my promises.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimers:** If I owned Sirius and Remus, I would be a very happy camper. But I don't, so I'm forced into the rather sad position of the fanfiction author, who lives vicariously through reading and writing deranged fantasies featuring said characters. Pity me. And review.

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Remus Lupin woke at exactly seven o'clock in the morning and tried to remember exactly why he was sleeping in an attic with his back resting against the flank of a very disgruntled Hippogriff.

Ah, wait. He was in another crazy escapade with Sirius. This, then, was normal.

But things were a lot less humorous than they had seemed the night before, when they had been enchanting maps like they were the Marauders again and swigging Sirius's secret Butterbeer stash. Now it was sirius… no, _serious_. They had less than a day to try their luck yet again at completing this impossible task, and if…

_Thunk_.

Buckbeak was bored with being Remus's pillow, and the werewolf's head clunked against the wooden floor. Stars winked, and large purple elephants did cartwheels.

The noise also woke Sirius from a deep dream-filled sleep.

"I AM _NOT_ A PIRATE!" he cried as he flipped out of the moldy overstuffed chair where he had been sleeping, staring around wildly.

"Wassamatter Padfoot?" said Remus, slightly dazed.

"Wow… I was having the most _bizarre_ dream… something about you, an egg named Waffles, and a lot of really annoying Irish music…"

Remus blinked at his friend. "Only you, Sirius. Only you."

He rose, swaying, and stalked over to the cramped table where the dingy map lay spread. "The dots have all appeared—they're still labeling themselves." He cast a rueful, albeit glazed, look at Sirius. "I really, really don't think this is going to work."

"Oh, stop being such a pessimist," said Sirius. "How about a sandwich?" He yawned and conjured up toast, mayonnaise, a head of lettuce, a rind of bacon, three tomatoes, a bottle of mustard, a few slices of turkey, and a large can of whipped cream.

"Hungry, are we?"

"It's gonna be good, do you want me to…"

_"Shhhh!"_ said Remus, shushing Sirius with a hand motion. The steps outside were creaking… someone was coming up to the attic…

"Hide, Sirius!"

"Why?"

"You're _dead_."

Sirius had just leapt behind the chair when the door swung open, Molly Weasley standing on the threshold. She was carrying a bag of dead rats, presumably to feed Buckbeak. "Remus?" she said suspiciously. "What are you doing up here?"

"I'm… making a sandwich!" he said enthusiastically, pointing at Sirius's culinary supplies, which lay strewn over the armchair.

Molly gave him a look. "Remus, where is he?"

"Where's who?"

"Sirius."

Remus gave a gasp of mock surprise, while inwardly he shrieked, _How the hell did she find out?_ "I am _amazed_ that you would have the audacity to ask such a question about my…"

Molly glared at him rather as she did Fred and George when they were being particularly boisterous. "Really, Remus, how daft do you think I am? You've been acting extremely odd of late, anyone can see that. Running through the house, calling for imaginary cats and skipping Order meetings…"

_Damn_, he thought_, I forgot about that!_

"… and then Arthur comes and tells us that Sirius was seen at the Ministry by a crowd of eyewitnesses, along with _you_ I might add. And," she added, wrinkling her nose. "This room smells like _dog_!"

Behind the armchair, Sirius sneezed.

"Ah-_ha!_" cried Molly.

"Eep!" said Sirius and Remus in unison, and the pair Disapparated, Remus snatching the map as they vaporized. They found themselves both standing at Nelly's sandwich shop.

"We Apparated to the same place unrehearsed!" exclaimed Remus.

"Great minds think alike!"

"There he is!" someone cried, and they turned to see the girl who had served them the day before, surrounded by a large crowd of please-men. She pointed a manicured finger at them. "I knew it was him I saw! Sirius Black!"

"Eep!" They Apparated again.

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Three Apparitions later, Sirius and Lupin were standing yet again in the middle of London, hoping that there was nothing too conspicuous about two oddly dressed thirty-something year old men whispering furtively as they consulted a ragged map.

Oddly enough, it appeared that there wasn't.

"For Merlin's sake, I can't read anything on here!" muttered Sirius, squinting at the ant-like armies of black dots. "The writing's miniscule. Can you read it?"

Sadly, they both had canine eyesight.

Then, Remus remembered that he was a wizard and could, in fact, do magic. Muttering an incantation and pointing at a location, the map suddenly zoomed in. Little dots scurried to and fro. None of them were labeled "Cirian Blask" or "Scott Blask" or "Cirian Scott Blask" or "Scott Blask Cirian" or any other variation of Cirian, Scott, and Blask.

"Zoom in on the Ministry," said Sirius.

Remus obliged. No luck.

"His house?"

He tapped the map.

"Nothing there but cats," he answered, shrugging.

Sirius groaned in frustration.

"This is hopeless!"

"It was _your_ idea!"

"Was not!"

There was a pause.

"Remus, you're _supposed_ to say 'was too!'"

"Sirius, we're not five… or at least _I'm_ not… and I _refuse_ to get into one of _those_ sorts of debates with you!"

"Aw, you're no fun, Remmy."

Sirius immediately observed that Remus suddenly looked as if he had taken a high dosage of Pepperup Potion, steaming ears and all, and he quickly amended his statement. "…I mean, _Remus._"

"Is that so, _Siri._"

Sirius paled. "You _promised_ to never call me that again!"

"Whoops."

"It sounds like a girl's name!"

"And 'Remmy' is any better?"

"Yes, actually."

Sirius waited for a retort, but Lupin was studying the map again.

"Sirius, I've found him!" he cried suddenly.

"What? Where?" said Sirius, peering over Remus's shoulder at the map.

'Look, just there. The dot's not even moving."

"He's _dead!_"

"The map doesn't_ show_ dead people, Sirius!"

"But I'm on it! Look, right there."

"Technically, you're not dead. And… wait a minute…" Remus squinted at the map. "Where's your dot, Sirius?"

"Right there, and look, there's you, right there."

"And look… There's Cirian Scott Blask."

"You already showed me that."

"Have you noticed where he is?"

Sirius blinked, and…

"He's been on the other side of the street this whole time!"

They both scanned the opposite side of the street, eyes roving the crowds, and spotted a familiar looking person standing in the shelter of a bus stop.

"Ah-_ha_!" cried Sirius, and darted across the street, paying no heed to traffic laws.

"Watch out for the yellow ones… they don't stop!" said Remus, and, without thinking, threw out his right hand in agitation.

The Knight Bus suddenly went careening around a corner.

Sirius never even knew what hit him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimers:** This is where I ought to write something appropriately witty declaring that I do not, in fact, own Harry Potter... But nothing comes to mind. So I will simply state it in plain terms: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER.

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Sirius, looking around, couldn't believe his eyes. He was in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, dinner was on the table, and Remus was calmly reading the Daily Prophet.

A surge of joy and relief surged through him. "I'm here! I never got hit by the Knight Bus! I'm alive! It was all a dream!"

Remus looked up, exasperation printed on his lined face. "This is the dream, stupid. You're still dead."

"Crap," said Sirius, and his eyes snapped open.

He was lying face-up on the ground, looking up at a pale blue sky, white sunlight streaming painfully into his blinking eyes. Relief from said light came rather suddenly, in the form of a large concerned face that moved into his field of vision.

"You alright?" asked the ticket man.

"Fine, fine," grumbled Sirius, hauling himself up. Brushing bits of grass from his green stained robes, he peered blearily at his surroundings. Great blue skies, lush emerald grass, a large ominously rippling black veil... He was back in Here.

So this was it; he, Sirius Black, was actually dead... Again.

Wearily, he rounded on the ticket man. "One ticket to Here. I'm a Wizard."

The man eyed him suspiciously. "Have I seen you before?"

"How could you? That would imply that I died twice," said Sirius sardonically as he accepted his ticket and tripped over the turn-style with ease. Righting himself, he shuffled moodily to the long winding line of deceased men and women. This, in every sense, sucked. Why did the Knight Bus have to come along at that moment? He should be back at home, living! He didn't even like ping-pong!

"Refreshments?"

"No thanks."

"You sure?"

"Did I stutter?"

The man with the snack tray shrugged and moved on.

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The witch in white robes completely failed to recognize Sirius as she accepted the ticket he proffered her glumly. He couldn't exactly blame her... She had to deal with thousands, perhaps millions of dead people each day.

"Well, everything seems to be in order, Mr. Blank. We hope you'll enjoy Here."

"I doubt that, and for the last time, it's Black. Not Blask, not Blank, Black."

"Wait... Did you just say Black?"

"Yes, I said Black!"

She scanned the ticket again, glanced at her computer screen, and gazed wonderingly up at Sirius. "Are you, or are you not, Mr. Serious Blank of number 12, Grim Old Place?"

"No, I'm Sirius Black, number 12, Grimmauld Place."

Her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute... I remember you!"

Sirius rolled his own eyes. "Congratulations, you've just won the Prize of the Day."

"What is up with you and dying when you're not supposed to?"

"Hey, it's not my fault that you lot are having some kind of data issue concerning my mortality!"

The witch groaned and sunk back in her chair, burying her face in one hand. This job was not, was not worth the stress. Without even looking at Sirius, she gestured feebly at the Veil with her other hand. "Go. You have forty-eight hours."

"Do I just have to get Mr. Blank, or do I still have to find Blask too?"

"Oh, I don't give a damn, just go!"

Grinning, Sirius almost-but-not-quite skipped away from the line, bowling over the candy man in the process. Approaching the Veil, he prepared to step through it, prepared to get another chance at life...

Suddenly, he paused.

Turning around, he saw the ticket man, standing alone by the solitary turn-style.

"Hey, you!"

He looked up.

"I have a question for you!"

The ticket man looked annoyed. "Don't they all! No, I'm sorry, I can not bring you back to life."

"It's okay, the lady at the booth already did. No, I was just wondering... What's a Vanderdeiken?"

The ticket man paused, and smiled. Stepping over to where Sirius stood, he whispered, "If I told you that, it would destroy the element of suspense that's been keeping everyone reading all this while." And, having said as much, he gave Sirius a light shove and sent him tumbling through the Veil.

**THE END**

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A/N: Not quite the happy ending everybody expected, eh? Well, Sirius and Remus are both alive (for the time being), and that was what you all wanted, right? Eh heh heh. Anyway, thanks for reading "Beyond the Veil," and I hope that all my readers enjoyed it. You've put up with confusion, caprice, and endless hiatuses, and I love you all.

Some of you may cry, "Sequel!" and I will cry, "Hell no!" but I suppose anything could happen at this point... 


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